Shadows On The Wall
by The Crownless Queen
Summary: Rowena is being haunted. It would be funny, if it was anyone else doing the haunting. For Sophie.


Written for Sophie, as thanks for being an amazing mod on The Golden Snitch.

 **Shadows On The Wall**

Rowena notices the presence first, the cold current of air ruffling against her skin, making her air stand on ends, the footsteps that follow her when no one is around.

She should probably be scared, she knows, but for some reason, she isn't. The presence feels… familiar, like something she hadn't even known she had lost and had only just gotten back.

There is nothing fearsome about this ghost though. If anything, it feels sad, and quiet; the kind of quiet that comes from heavy thoughts.

She gets used to it quickly enough – in a world of magic, where ghosts actually exist, there is nothing that unusual, she thinks, about being haunted. She, like everyone else she knows, had lost her fair share of loved ones, some to death and others… Well, she doesn't like to talk about what happened with the others.

 _(she can't forget though, can't forget the years they spent together before he left, before everything went wrong, the way he had always had a smile for her, or the way most of their inventions were so brilliant simply because they had worked together on them, heads bent over parchments and books for hours on end, sharing brief, secret smile like their love had to stay hidden)_

Nobody else notices what's been happening around her – Godric is oblivious as ever, smiling and waving whenever their path cross in the now busy corridors of Hogwarts.

 _(she wants to resent him for that, resent him for the way he always, always misses the signs that things are about to go wrong around him, but if she did she'd have to resent herself too )_

 _(oh but wait – she does)_

She remembers the way things used to be too much these days, and it hurts to lay eyes on Godric's face, who looks like he doesn't care that they're the only two left, that Helga is years dead, that Salazar _left_ (that her heart left with him).

She knows it's not true – he loved Helga and Salazar in his own way too, and they mourned together and sometimes, when the light hits his eyes just so, she can the shadows lurking there, but he hides them so well that she can't help but hate him a little, for this way he has to move past the hurt.

Rowena can't – she's not built like that.

She likes to think that Salazar wasn't either, that they were the same, that they could have been have been happy together, if fate had just but let them.

It's a folly, she knows – they'd have destroyed each other eventually. Still, she'll never know for sure, and that burns more than anything, this not-knowing, this terrible lack of knowledge.

 _(Salazar always used to joke that she knew everything – nowadays Godric is the only one left to make those quips, and it hurts more than anything else when he tries)_

Sometimes, she thinks she might even hate them – hate Salazar for making her love him so much and then ripping her heart out of her chest and leaving her to slowly bleed to death, hate Godric for being there when Salazar isn't.

Her thoughts are drawn back to Salazar much more often than they used to, these days, and that is the first clue.

The others are nowhere near as obvious – fog on her mirror when there shouldn't be any, the ghostly feeling of a hand on her shoulder or in her hair, the cold caress of air against her cheek, and of course, that _presence_.

It hits her suddenly one morning as she's walking toward the Great Hall, just who that presence is. Merlin, who else could it be?

She stumbles, and smiles so widely her cheeks hurt and her eyes start to water. She's not sure whether to laugh, cry or scream – he came back, after all this time, he finally came back, but it's not what she wanted, now is it?

He's there but not, and the thought of what that means is too awful to consider, even though she _knows_. She thinks she might have even known all along.

She takes a deep breath and holds her hand out, almost too afraid to hope.

What a scene she must make, she thinks, a little amused, holding a hand for empty air, alone in the middle of a corridor.

But she's not alone now, is she?

Air ruffles beside her, and a chill runs up her arm.

"Welcome back, Salazar," she finally whispers, unable to say anything else. "I missed you."

She smiles, and imagines that he says it back.


End file.
